The Last Something That Meant Anything
by marcasite
Summary: "Besides the obvious, what is it you want, Clara?" he finally spoke out from between clenched teeth. "Or is this the way you always say good-bye?" Basically, PWP and set during Mummy on the Orient Express


She spends most of her time avoiding and it's exhausting.

The past three weeks, she had lain quietly in her bed and simply watched the ceiling fan complete rotation after rotation. Every time she remembered her last words to the Doctor, she wants to bury her face in the pillows out of sheer mortification.

She knows that things had been strained between them for weeks, and how utterly painful that day on the Moon turned. The sting of his leaving her there still lingers along with her growing doubts that he has hidden feelings for her. _I'm not your boyfriend._

She's really not sure what she wants to do at this point, too invested to leave; too hopeful to stay. This is a limbo and the side of her that loves the Doctor is determined to stay at all costs. But it was the Doctor who came back to her, it was the Doctor who tried to talk to her but it was all her pushing him away. Insisting on this final trip together, to end on. She loved him, and the last him, and now this between them feels like something less than love.

This last hurrah was to be her way of saying good-bye, but she didn't want to leave without one touch, one moment with the Doctor. Then maybe she could flush him out of her system, put him neatly back into the box she has labeled for him.

She needs the separation; needs to compartmentalize.

So, this last hurrah was going to be just that. With the help of some misplaced white pyjamas and a tiny lace teddy. Okay, the white lace, barely there teddy she's brought with her was probably overkill but she didn't want to leave any doubt in the Doctor's mind of her intentions or his welcome.

Or, she was one hundred percent completely and totally wrong and this last hurrah was going to end rather quickly. In the worst possible way.

The Doctor's brisk knock pulled her out of her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

"You left this – Clara!"

Clara stepped back to allow the Doctor into the room. He didn't move.

"Don't you want to come—" she paused and waved her hand toward the interior of the room. "-in?"

He nodded and took two steps inside. "What are you wearing? Or should I say, not wearing? Maybe you were looking for these?" His words tripped over themselves.

She closed the door of the compartment to the outside world and turned the lock in place.

She felt his scalding gaze rake down her barely-clad body. Wordlessly, they stood staring at each other for an eternity of a heartbeat.

Slowly her gaze lowered from his face and slipped downward. Past his tense shoulders, past his chest, past the white silk still clutched in his hands – and then stopped abruptly at the long, hard ridge straining against the zipper of his pants. Clara swallowed hard against the knot of anticipation suddenly lodged in her throat, but couldn't move her gaze from the sight of his oh-so-obvious interest.

Her eyes still fixed low, she waved her hands toward the chair beside him and said, "You can put those wherever you want."

"That's stating the obvious." The Doctor's voice dropped an octave. "In the meantime, where do you want these?" He thrust the silk set at her again.

"On the chair is fine," she answered, too nervous to manage much more than a whisper.

The Doctor nodded, tossed her pyjamas on to the chair without breaking eye contact. He took a step towards her, hands trembling slightly. He seemed to suck a bracing breath into his lungs as he stopped inches from her. She watched as he struggled, need warring with resoluteness. His face tense, his jaw set in determination, he silently fought for control over his body.

"Besides the obvious, what is it you want, Clara?" he finally spoke out from between clenched teeth. "Or is this the way you always say good-bye?"

For a fraction of a second, Clara forgot how to breathe.

"You. I want you," she answered, too nervous to manage much more than a whisper. "I just want this chance with you."

Hesitation clouded his expression. Although he didn't move a muscle, she could almost visibly see him retreating from her.

"No strings, Doctor. I swear. I just want to know what it's like to be touched by, to feel your body against mine. Just this once."

The Doctor nodded, his eyes still unsure. He released a breath and pushed his fingers through her hair. He held her head in place while moving his mouth over hers. She moaned with the force of sharp pleasure that sliced through her body. This is what she wanted. The Doctor and Clara. Him and her. No walls between them, no more anything between them.

Suddenly, his hands were everywhere – over her breasts, caressing and kneading, digging his fingers into the tender flesh of her butt. He rocked himself against her, his pants and her lacy teddy the only barriers between them.

Still, he never released her mouth. His lips possessed hers. His tongue drove into her mouth, invading, demanding, and beseeching all at once. She countered with an assault to his tongue and mouth that matched his need. She could be conquered, she could be enslaved. But only after she did so to him.

He moaned and slid his mouth from hers, kissing his way across her neck. His breath was raspy and harsh against her ear.

"Clara," he whispered as lips moved down the column of her neck. "Now. Can't wait."

"Yes! Please," she barely managed to answer. Slipping her hands down his chest from where she clutched his shoulders, she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. She had to touch him, had to feel the pounding of his hearts against the wall of his chest.

Had to know he ached as much as she did.

He must have had the same need for skin against skin contact. He hooked his fingers under the thin strap of her teddy and yanked downward. Her lace bodice fell to her waist. She managed to unbuckle his belt but couldn't maneuver his zipper.

The Doctor said something under his breath, then stepped away. With a deftness that surprised her considering the way his hands shook, he unfastened his pants, let them drop to the floor, removed his shoes and socks and then stepped out of his pants. In one brisk movement, he shucked his shirt.

After months of wondering, dreaming, maybe even hoping, she couldn't believe she was here. That he could possibly be hers. Maybe just this moment, or this evening, but he was going to finally let her in. It would be enough. For now.

She reached for him but he stopped her before she touched him.

"If you touch me, it's over."

Her stomach tightened. Her knees went weak. She didn't think a woman could come with only a man's words and the promise in his eyes. Knowledge that in just seconds he would be thrusting inside her, filling her, demanding that she take all of him, sent a searing blade of expectation slicing through her so pleasurable that it bordered on pain.

Oh, God. Finally.

He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her to him. "Put your legs around my waist."

She did- and the second she was spread-wide for him, he plunged into her.

She gasped. He froze.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she lifted herself upwards and slammed down over him again, taking every inch of him she could. There was no going back. This is what she wanted, she needed-this moment of connection with him.

The Doctor muttered, "Yes! Like that. Hard."

Wrapping his arms even more tightly around her, he pushed his body against hers wedging her between him and the wall. He pumped, he pounded-faster and faster. Harder and harder. His breaths were ragged as he sucked great gulps of air between his clenched teeth. A fierceness shadowed across his face, contorting his features.

Need seared through her-need to urge him on, need to race to her own fulfillment. She had started this game, she knew she had been playing with fire. His intensity, his desperation fueled hers until she was a burning coil of carnal need.

"Clara!" he growled, still pumping himself inside her. "Too fast-too soon—want more."

Clara barely heard him over the thundering of blood pounding in her ears. All she knew-all she felt was him. He was her universe, the air she breathed and the force driving her closer and closer to the edge of the world.

The Doctor surged into her and then froze.

"What? Doctor, don't stop now."

"Wait," he panted. "I'll come if I don't stop."

"I am right here with you. Please."

He took her mouth in a breath-stealing kiss, then pushed one last time.

She cried into his mouth as she plunged over the edge of rational thought. A half a heartbeat later, the Doctor growled a cry of completion and slumped against Clara's body. Only the weight of their pressed bodies against the wall behind them held them upright.

Eons later, or maybe it was just moments, the Doctor eased their still entwined bodies to the floor. Exhausted, they sat-Clara still in his lap- and listen to each other's breathing return to normal.

Finally, Clara broke the silence. "These tiny rooms come with showers?" At the Doctor's half-hearted smirk, Clara smiled. She was relieved that he didn't want to analyze her recent behavior. At least not now. She wasn't sure about anything, except she was right where she wanted to be – in the Doctor's arms.

Dropping her head to the Doctor's shoulders while he ran his hand up and down her back, she sighed.

She would just have to figure out the rest as it happened.


End file.
